


Hidden Shadows

by Caruscus



Category: Wolverine (Movies), Wolverine and the X-Men - All Media Types, X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Hopefully not OOC, Hurt/Comfort, Possessive Behavior, Possessive Logan (X-Men), Protective Wolverine, Romance, Slow Burn, Smut, as he should be, he's also a little shit sometimes, protective Logan, this doesn't follow any specific movie and will be more freeform, wolverine is afraid of water
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-09
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-15 11:02:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29932443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caruscus/pseuds/Caruscus
Summary: Trying to avoid ghosts from your own past, you accept the invitation that Charles Xavier offered you years before and come to teach at the Xavier Institute. It's a safe haven, and you find yourself falling into a comfortable routine where you get to help kids better themselves while also getting yourself back under control.And then Logan, a man with a rugged exterior and even rougher personality, saunters into the picture and threatens to flip your peaceful life on its head.Will you find that he's what you've been missing this whole time, or will being around him lead to more trouble than it's worth?
Relationships: Logan (X-Men)/Reader
Kudos: 8





	Hidden Shadows

The past can be a tricky thing to live with. 

Some people lose their memories. It can either be a disease of the brain, or it can be caused by an accident, some trauma to the head...It can be devastating. Those people lose those memories that they so desperately want back. 

You have the opposite problem. You can't _forget_ your past. 

It's there, always lingering in the dark recesses of your mind, waiting for a quiet moment to catch you unawares and remind you of _why_ you're here, huddled in the last stall in this bathroom at a random gas station. It doesn't matter where you are or what time it is, if it sees a chance to strike, it will do so without hesitation. 

It wants to _cripple_ you, but you won't let it. 

Not anymore. 

"Miss?" 

The knocking on your stall door startles you and you lift your head from where it was cradled between your knees. Your eyes are still wet from the tears that fell down your cheeks a few moments ago. You take a deep breath and swallow, trying to control your emotion so it won't show when you speak. 

"Yes?"

A pause. It sounds like the voice belongs to an older woman, and underneath the door, you can see a pair of white sneakers, worn with use and age. 

"You've been in there for a while. I thought I heard...crying?"

You wipe the backs of your hands over your eyes and start to fan them to help the redness that's surely there go away faster. "No, no. Sorry, just was talking to a friend. Got some bad news is all, but I'm feeling better now. Thank you for asking."

Your excuse doesn't sound believable to even you, but the woman thankfully doesn't question it. 

"Okay. I'll be in the store a few more minutes if you need anything, all right?"

You nod before remembering she can't see you. "Thank you," you say, much quieter than before. She shuffles out of the room and you hear the bathroom door shut once more. 

"Shit," you mutter to yourself. Already that telltale feeling of a headache is brewing in your temple, something that always accompanies those moments when the past manages to jump you out of nowhere. 

This can't keep happening. Living like this, trying not to break down at every other moment, is no way for a person to live. It's no way for _you_ to live. 

The card in your pocket seems to stick out against your leg. You reach down and pull it out, running your fingers over the softened and worn edges, eyes tracing the now-familiar letters. 

_Just call him._

Frustration builds up inside you. You shouldn't be relying on other people for this. You should be able to fix this problem yourself. 

_There's nothing wrong with asking for help._

You groan and bury your face in your hands. _His_ voice is always there, trying to tell you what you should do, what is technically the right thing, but it doesn't mean it's easy. 

It was easier when he was here to help you do it, not just tell you to do it. 

_You don't need me there to do this._

"Yes, I do," you argue even though there's nobody around. But as always, he convinces you and you scramble back to your feet while shoving the card back in your pocket. 

When you walk out of the restroom and into the main part of the gas station, you find a woman standing in the chip aisle and staring at you. One glance down at her shoes lets you know that she's the one who checked in on you. 

You were right about her being older, maybe twenty or thirty years more than you. Her brown hair is starting to gray and you have a few inches on her, but she gives off such a soothing aura that you can't help but return the smile she gives you, even though yours is strained. 

If there's one thing you know you can trust anymore, it's what a person's aura can tell you. You certainly have learned to trust that more than their words, that's for sure. 

You walk outside into the dark of night, the neon sign of the gas station buzzing above your head. You take your phone out of your back pocket--nothing special, just a flip phone that makes calls when you need it to and receives the occasional text every now and again--and open it, your fingers hovering over the numbers. 

You don't need to look at the card again. You've looked at it so many times that the digits listed on it are imprinted in your brain. Another one of those things you just can't forget. 

There's only a brief second of hesitation before the send button is hit and it starts to ring. You press the phone to your ear and let out a shaky breath, and wait. 

One ring. 

Two rings. 

Three rings.

This is dumb, you should just hang up the phone now. The phone might not even be in use anymore, it's probably out of service and this place that has been sitting on a crate in your mind is probably nothing but rubble at this point--

_"Hello?"_

The male voice that answers the phone makes your breath catch. 

_"Hello? Is someone there?"_

_Say something._

"H-hi, hi. Is there a Charles I can talk to?"

A pause. _"Speaking."_

You swallow past the lump in your throat. "My name is Y/N, we met a few years ago and you gave me your card--"

_"Y/N, of course. It's nice to hear from you. How are you doing?"_

You squeeze your eyes together tightly, willing yourself not to cry again. You just had your breakdown a few minutes ago, you don't need to have another one so soon. 

"I'm okay," your voice is barely above a whisper. "Listen, I know it's been a few years, but when you gave me your card you said to call you if I ever changed my mind."

_"That offer still stands._ _"_

A wave of relief rushes over you. "I think I'm ready to take you up on it."

Charles seems noticeably more chipper when he speaks next. _"That's wonderful news. Will you require transportation?"_

You look behind you through the doors to where the older lady is now speaking to the clerk. "That would be appreciated."

_"And will your brother be joining us?"_

Silence. 

It's as though all the air was knocked out of your lungs. You take a wheezy breath in, pushing back on the black spots that threaten to overtake your vision. 

_You're okay. Take a_ breath.

You do as the voice says, trying your best not to completely lose your shit. 

_"I'll make the preparations to have you picked up, Miss Y/N."_ Charles's voice is soft again, and it's easy to hear in his wording that he picked up on your unspoken answer to his question. 

No, your brother will not be joining you.

You rattle off your location, thankful for the change in subject. That doesn't mean your hands aren't still shaking and your legs don't still feel like jelly. 

_"That's a...peculiar location to be at, especially at this time of night."_ He sounds confused, but again he doesn't comment any further on it. Simply lets you know that he's noticed that detail. _"A dear friend of mine will be coming to retrieve you. Her name is Ororo. She should be there within the hour."_

Within the hour? That was luck that you happened to be so close to wherever it is his institute is located. 

"Thank you, Mr. Xavier."

He chuckles. _"My students call me Professor Xavier, and my friends call me Charles. You may call me whatever makes you most comfortable."_

You try to make yourself sound as positive as possible, but it's even weaker than the smile you gave the woman in the gas station. "Thank you, Charles."

When you finish with the phone you shut it and put it back in your pocket before deciding to sit at one of the nearby picnic tables. Though it's almost midnight and dark, the weather isn't too chilly and you find that the fresh air has always helped you to think better. 

_You've always enjoyed the outdoors._

"I used to enjoy a lot more," you murmur, looking up at the stars. Of course nobody, is actually there. He's never there, not anymore. 

* * *

The large gust of wind that blows through this small part of town steals your thoughts from the stars and onto the road. To your utter astonishment, you watch as what looks like a small plane--but much more technical. 

It was a _war_ plane. 

You brush a hand through your hair to keep it back as the wind blows it in your face. The plane touches down on an open space of ground behind the gas station a couple hundred feet. You stand up as a platform drops down and a woman starts walking down to the ground. 

The first thing you notice is her hair. Stark white and a beautiful contrast with her skin, she's easily one of the most gorgeous women you've ever seen. 

The second thing you notice is the aura around her--it's almost therapeutic to be in its presence alone. Like calm waves of an ocean brushing across the sea shore. 

She smiles as she walks up to you, teeth almost as white as her hair. "You must be Y/N. Charles said you were expecting me."

You stick your hand out in greeting automatically and she doesn't hesitate in shaking it. "And you must be Ororo."

She drops your hand and gestures to the plane. "Do you have any bags we need to grab?"

You cross your arms over your chest. "No. I don't...I'm fine with what I have now."

She eyes the plastic grocery bag clutched in my other hand, the one that has been with me for the past few days, and doesn't say a word. Just like Charles, it's as though she knows when and when not to speak. 

"Have you ever flown on a plane before?"

You shake your head, a tiny hint of a genuine smile on your lips. "No, but this doesn't really look like any ordinary plane."

She laughs at that. "It's not, and it flies a lot smoother than a regular plane too. It's going to spoil your first ride."

"Where is it that we're going?"

"It's in New York, so it shouldn't take us longer than forty minutes to get back."

You try not to let your jaw drop at that information. You're currently in the middle of Maryland. "Here I was thinking that the institute was in Maryland. I guess it makes more sense for it to be in New York."

She laughs again, and you find yourself relaxing more and more with the sound. You follow her into the plane and to the cockpit, taking in all the whirly bits and pieces along the way. This ship is ahead of its time, that much is obvious. With you standing there in your worn jeans, old sneakers and sweater that has more than one hole in it, you feel...unworthy. 

"Hey," Ororo says, a knowing look in her eye, "I just want you to know that we're happy you're here. That you've decided to join us."

You sit in the chair she gestures to, carefully strapping yourself in. "I...I'm surprised Charles remembered me."

She flashes her teeth again in a grin as she sits behind the oddly shaped controls and starts the plane. "There is very little the professor forgets."

Your stomach drops momentarily as the ramp closes and the plane lifts into the sky. You take a tight grip on the arm rests and hold on as you shoot off through the air, a pleasant rush of adrenaline moving through your veins. 

You had your apprehensions about this. You didn't _want_ to do this. But sitting here in this chair, on this borderline space ship, with a beautiful woman who has managed to put you at ease a lot faster than most people. 

Maybe he was right. Maybe you should've done this a long time ago. 

_I told you._

You roll your eyes. Just wait, you think to yourself, and you'll see if this really will be as good as it seems. 

Because you know from personal experience that things don't always turn out perfect, even if it may seem like it at first. 


End file.
